Nana, will you ride the Anaconda
My seven-year-old granddaughter
looks up at me,
imploring. My feet are abraded—
too much sand;
my replaced hip protests—
tumbled in the surf;
my neck and back ache—
What will I teach her if I say
I hurt too much?
Of course, I reply and off we go—
7 and 70
lumbering up the rough concrete ramp
in line, maneuver into the yellow,
fly down the roaring,
and after blind swoops and freezing splashes,
through the open jaws of the giant snake,
hands aloft and squealing.
© by Patricia L. Goodman.
Used with the author’s permission.